


Faith

by Teland



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-06-12
Updated: 1998-06-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Sometimes we all need a little help to wind down.





	Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Alicia for beta; to JiM and Dawn for helpful comments; and to BethLynn for... inspiration...

River Front Motel  
New Orleans, Louisiana

Fox Mulder was alone. It had been a bad one. Three solid   
weeks on loan to the New Orleans bureau office, trying to   
catch yet another in a seemingly endless parade of   
yesterday's troubled youth. He wondered, not for the first   
time, where to set the dividing line. When did a victim   
become a criminal, just another vicious little predator to   
be ground into meat

//for the beast//

for the nation's correctional facilities? He snorted to   
himself and took in the questionable splendor of his room.   
Frame bed, water damaged wallpaper, and a coverlet whose   
color scheme suggested nothing less than the mottled back   
of some sewer-bound cockroach midway through the evolution   
process. 

//The awkward millennia.//

When they'd arrived, the local SAC had offered to put them   
up at the Maison Pierre La Fitte, an obvious attempt to   
placate the adopted pet profiler. At first Scully had   
agreed to hole up at the River Front with him, but when   
she'd stuck to the carpeting in the lobby...

But places like this had their advantages. Even with the   
moderately frightening sink next to the bed, being here   
*was* better. What was the real difference between   
profiling and method acting, after all? You immerse   
yourself in the trappings of your quarry's existence in an   
attempt to know him, become him-- if only for a time. And,   
no matter where he was, these squalid little holes had a   
pleasant sameness. Someone had stayed here, fucked or died   
or hid here... and damn if they didn't all leave their   
marks. But as... something... skittered behind the next   
wall, Mulder did occasionally wish for nicer trappings.

1:57 a.m. and he'd just gotten off the phone with Scully.   
Disappointing on any number of levels, really. There was a   
time when she'd have let him ramble on until well past   
three. 

//Must be losing your quirky charm, Mulder...//

And times like these... Well, he could admit it. A voice of   
sanity, of normality and simple human decency was precisely   
what he needed right now. Some solid, tangible proof that   
the world had more to offer than just a great sucking wound   
that begged for a gun in its maw. Mulder put his head in   
his hands and chuckled darkly. It was time to get the hell   
out of here. 

******

There was something very wrong about a city in the wee   
hours. It was simple human nature that the vast majority of   
the world slept at this time, but he'd never gotten past   
the naive hope that it would somehow be different in the   
crowded places, that other spirits besides his own would   
leave their burrows to roam under the unnatural skies. 

He'd catalogued dozens of skies in his lifetime, and had   
never quite decided which made him angriest. The orange-  
mauve of New York got points for being the ultimate example   
of loveliness in corruption, and this somehow soothing   
purple-grey, replete with the stench of polluted waters,   
had definite potential... but he thought that Washington   
remained the worst. That deep, royal blue bordering on   
indigo. When you added all the glimmering marble it seemed   
the perfect, shining example of the City at night. It was a   
lie, of course. Anything close to a steady look and the   
blue revealed its blandness. Nothing here, look down, look   
away, little worm. Just one richly colored veil... Nubilis,   
nubere... He toyed with the idea of holy matrimony and its   
relationship to a mendacious sky for a while, dreamy half-  
smile on his face, drifting through thick, heavy silence as   
yet another metaphor screamed and twisted for mercy within   
his mind.

Some twenty minutes later Mulder found himself staring up   
at the unrepentantly ostentatious facade of St. Michael's   
Cathedral. For a brief moment he considered going in,   
imagined the vaulted ceilings, the softly nutty scent of   
old to ancient candle wax, the occasional tantalizing brush   
of incense... Why did people save such things for the   
religious? 

//I need... something.//

What sort of God hoarded such rarities of human beauty for   
Himself? It was an old bitterness, a fruit that had arrived   
at a certain level of rancidity and decided to *hold* to   
it. You had to admire the tenacity. Mulder stood on the   
steps hesitantly. He really didn't have anywhere to be, and   
the old fantasy of being burnt by the coolly gleaming brass   
of the metal pushbar had only fleeting entertainment value.

"Looking for absolution, Agent Mulder?"

The roughly professional tone had the same effect it always   
did. An infinitesimal, automatic stiffening in his spine,   
the hastily quashed desire to come to attention. He took a   
moment to settle himself before turning with deliberate   
slowness, executing a perfectly calculated sprawl against   
the doors that left his back *just* clear of the bar. 

"Just looking for something to do, Walter."

The steps gave him a rare vantage point over the older man,   
but he knew it wouldn't last. Times like these it never   
did... not in quite this way, at least. For a brief, heart-  
stopping moment, Mulder caught the gleam of streetlights on   
strong even teeth...

"I think I could help with that."

"Could you?"

"Come and see..."

Mulder remained still against the old, dark wood for   
another few seconds, longing for the ability to pierce the   
glare hiding those deep chocolate eyes. A slow blink to   
register another failure of the night, and he moved slowly   
down the steps to face Skinner. 

"What are you doing here, Walter?"

The older man moved in, giving his cheek a slow and   
thorough nuzzle before settling a smile against his ear.

"Why do you always make this so difficult?"

It was a good question, and he resolved to give it some   
serious thought, but for now his palms ached to rest   
against muscled flesh, to run their fingers through still-  
dark hair and tug and tease...

"Me first."

Powerful arms slipped around him, parting ways at the   
center of his spine to glide simultaneously down to his ass   
and up to his nape. Mulder remembered that first night, so   
cold but a thumb had pressed right *there*, digging gently   
into his scalp and making his body fluid in Walter's   
startled grasp. Another secret revealed and yes touch me   
there just like that. His eyes had closed but there was   
heat beyond the irrelevancies of the air just out of reach   
of his mouth and that thumb stroked and rubbed and   
pressed...

"Vacation, Mulder..."

He'd known for years that this alone could bring him almost   
there, had long since given up the struggle to deny its   
power over him from lovers. It was the only possible way to   
cope with the indignity of having such an obvious trigger,   
but still, when the *other* hand cupped him firmly and   
brought him close... A hardness against his own, so   
effectively hidden by the deceptive light and shadow of the   
city night... and that carefully adjusted trench. 

Mulder wanted to laugh but could only gasp at the   
discreetly powerful thrusts. He wondered if Skinner really,   
truly believed that such an impressive display of control   
at this moment would disguise the nature of their meeting   
from any unfortunately prying eyes. Or was he just   
bragging? Mmm.... Semper Fi... and then thought and wonder   
and cynicism were swallowed in the touch of expensive   
brandy and desire that entered his mouth with simple, calm   
possession. 

It never lasted, though. His mind wouldn't, couldn't seem   
to allow the impression of docility. Not for very long. He   
forced himself to submit to the kiss for a small stretch of   
eternity, before demanding with a series of small nips to   
have his arms freed, pushing the older man away with a   
lingering brush against buttoned, hidden abdomen.

"I *do* have a motel room."

"That's exactly what I was afraid of."

Mulder smirked. "You have to admit there's a certain charm   
to--"

"No. I don't."

This time he let the laugh free, soft, subtle, and private   
in the stagnant air. "Then where?" He moved forward,   
sliding his arms around the older man and resting his lips   
against Walter's throat, treasuring the brief shudder.   
"Hmmm...? An alley, your taxi, a confessional booth...?"

The hands had found there way back, stealthily, to his ass   
and squeezed hard, making Mulder bite back a hiss in the   
pulsing vein of the neck before him. 

"I... presume you didn't... take the time to get your *own*   
hotel room?"

The answering silence was only distressing for a moment--   
the hands continued to rove and grip without a pause.   
Mulder tried to pin down the first time he had felt this   
simple... 

//faith//

confidence with another person, the ease that allowed (only   
semi- joking) references to his own irresistibility, the   
comfort that could wash it all away... He really, really   
didn't want to go back to the River Front. He felt lips   
nest briefly in his hair.

"So damned *difficult*... We *could* rectify that obvious   
error now?"

"That we could..."

His quick capitulation froze the other man, and the roil of   
pleasure and guilt was dizzying. Mulder could feel   
questions rumbling up through the massive chest. A pre-  
emptive strike of lips and a slow threading of fingers   
through fingers. 

"Let's go, Walter."

******

The Radisson was far, far too nice. It was one thing to   
lose oneself in the crush of another person, but it was   
hard to slough the debris of that other world. He had   
wandered onto the wrong stage. This place was not him, not   
now. Mulder stared at his reflection in the mirrored   
elevator doors across the lobby, took in the mussed hair,   
the tattered jeans and t-shirt, and felt like nothing more   
nor less than some rapidly aging rentboy. As Skinner tucked   
his credit card away he leaned in to whisper. "I'll expect   
you to leave the money on the nightstand, Sir."

Walter whirled to face him with shock and more than a   
little anger. 

"What are you--"

The older man's face softened abruptly as brown eyes   
flicked swiftly over cream walls, gold leaf... before   
finally returning to Mulder. A brief clenching of jaw, a   
narrowing of eyes, and then Skinner was loosening his tie   
and placing it deliberately around Mulder's neck, executing   
a perfect Windsor knot. The younger man just stared. Walter   
gave the knot an utterly unnecessary adjustment. Mulder's   
lips twitched. Walter made as if to snag a briefcase   
momentarily abandoned on the counter. 

This was quickly growing ridiculous. Mulder laughed and   
clutched the older man's arm, earning a quicksilver grin   
that made him squeeze involuntarily. Walter grabbed the key   
card instead and carefully removed the hand from his arm,   
running the strip of plastic along Mulder's jaw. 

"Shall we?"

******

"What floor did you say we were on?"

"Nineteenth."

"Hmmm..."

"Just what, exactly, did you have in mind, Mulder?"

Mulder toyed idly with the tie, and gave the railing a   
pointed glance. There really was little in this world more   
satisfying than watching the iron control crumble. Under   
that solid mass lay fault lines, and there were times--when   
he gave him that look, when he spoke in that tone--when   
Mulder could almost feel the earth trembling with the force   
of Skinner's passion. He wanted to roll with it, to lie   
down upon that fleshy earth and be taken by the shuddering   
inevitability of it all, to find some flash of oneness,   
some brief approximation of faith. He took a step toward   
the older man, smiling slightly, and was surprised at the   
depth of rage he felt when the elevator chimed at the third   
floor. 

Drunken tourists. Twenty-fourth floor. Joy. Skinner was   
grinning at him with evil amusement over the heads of the   
teenagers. 

//Oh, really?//

As the elevator began to rise again, Mulder undid the tie   
as slowly as he possibly could, watching Walter from   
beneath half-lidded eyes. When it was free of his neck he   
caught a brief taste of the other man's scent from the   
silk, and entertained thoughts of running it over his   
face... perhaps between his legs... but focused for a   
moment on the innocent (if drink-flushed) faces of their   
companions and decided to have done with corruption. For   
now. He settled for smoothing the silk around his wrists,   
winding and threading and winding some more, knowing the   
other man would catch only tantalizing glimpses of his play   
through the constantly shifting bodies between them. After   
a time he could feel Walter's gaze on his face, but   
resisted the urge to meet it for fear of his reaction. He   
found himself grateful for the relative speed of the   
elevator.

******

"A dog-grooming glove? What did *you* have in mind,   
Walter?"

A briskly professional walk down the quiet hallway, a slow,   
chuckling, mutual removal of clothing, and an insistent   
Assistant Director had them here, bare-ass naked in the   
sumptuous bathroom attached to room 1954. The older man had   
briefly left him alone as the tub was filling, claiming to   
have forgotten something, only to return with the electric   
blue latex glove. With lots of little rubber nubs. Mulder   
supposed he could grow accustomed to Skinnerkink...

An innocent blink. "I just wanted to get all traces of the   
River Front off you, Mulder."

"Uh-huh."

"Get in the tub?"

"You won't be joining me?"

"Not for the moment..."

Mulder grinned and settled himself gently into the steaming   
water, watching the other man pull the ridiculous glove on   
before plunging it into the bathwater... a good two feet   
away from any available skin.

"Tease."

Walter raised an eyebrow and gazed at him sternly. The look   
would probably have been more effective were the lenses not   
completely obscured with steam, and Mulder leaned forward   
helpfully to remove them, stroking the older man's ears   
slightly while he did so. A lingering kiss on the inside of   
his wrist, but no other contact as Walter reached across   
him for the soap.

The first touch of slick rubber to his chest made Mulder   
squirm. Ticklish, lightly painful as the glove caught and   
dragged... He pressed into the caress, encouraging Skinner   
to roam. Delicious to feel it scrub slowly over his back,   
up his legs, only to be removed to get more lather... down   
his arms and when he grabbed it with his own hand the soft   
groan Walter returned was exquisite. Back to his chest to   
linger just a little too long over nipples that craved the   
subtle torture.

"Walter..."

The hand stilled in the center of his torso before sliding   
down and down and beneath the water to grip him gently--and   
then continued. Mulder decided he'd never be able to look   
at pet care products quite the same way again. A slow,   
delicate massage along his perineum and beyond and he found   
himself bracing his feet precariously along the sides of   
the tub and his spine against the back in a slippery effort   
to give the other man easier access. The hand shifted, a   
finger made tiny circling movements along his entrance and   
suddenly Walter's mouth was claiming his own in a roughly   
brief kiss.

"Jesus, Walter... let me come..."

And finally, finally the hand ceased its teasing and began   
to stroke him, slowly at first to test his sensitivity, but   
when Mulder began to buck (losing his tenuous balance on   
the porcelain, slamming his calf hard enough to bruise, and   
splashing water all over the place), Skinner complied with   
the silent pleas for speed and Mulder could feel his hips   
twist and writhe in a battle with himself to both escape   
and feel more of the curious sensation.

//*This* is what I needed...//

And then he was losing himself, faceless predator, dusty   
hustler, FBI Agent it was fading to ash, all of it   
meaningless, helpless against the force of his orgasm and   
he might have been screaming... The patter of water on   
his chest, the deep gurgle that warned of the plug's   
removal, and he made his way back to something resembling   
himself. Walter had turned the shower on and was in the   
process of joining him in the tub. 

"Hello there..."

"Planning on standing anytime soon, Mulder?"

The younger man pursed his lips in consideration, watched   
the play of muscles in strong calves as Skinner shifted. In   
one smooth motion he had risen to his knees and darted his   
head around to nip at the back of the older man's thigh. He   
was rewarded with a slight buckle and grinned against   
Walter's skin.

"No."

Mulder kissed his way back around front. "No?" A catch in   
the gruff voice. Glorious.

"I think I may have found something to do."

******  
End.  
******


End file.
